


Make Me a Bad Person

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Declarations Of Love, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Greg is trying to be a good guy, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Rehabilitation, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Smoking, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:34:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft asks his long time friend and secret crush, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, to take in his drug addicted little brother, Sherlock who is fresh out of rehab.</p><p>Greg accepts the challenge but soon finds himself in over his head with the attractive young addict.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me a Bad Person

**Author's Note:**

> I do NOT own BBC's Sherlock or any of its characters. 
> 
> From Greg's POV. May turn into a series if this receives a good response. 
> 
> Feel free to comment and stuff.
> 
> Everything sort of leads up to A Study In Pink..

I was only beginning to lose myself to dreams when I was shaken awake by the sound of the duvet rustling beside me. I pinched my eyes shut tight and tried to isolate the sensations echoing in the darkness of my bedroom. I had only one flatmate and I had made sure that he had gotten to sleep without incident just two hours before finally settling in myself. A hand slid its way up my bare chest and I catelogued the affectionate gesture. I risked a name, that of my wife, deluding myself into imagining that she had returned. After all she still had a key to the flat. I let myself hope though the person behind me did not respond, only continued to press their plams firmly to my chest, drawing me closer. Soft dry lips kissed up from the base of my neck to my jaw line and I let out a low groan of satisfaction. Without peeling open my lazy eyelids I turned on my side to embrace the figure. My hands searched a soft slender neck and I pulled it toward me in an attempt to land a kiss and I found a pair of lush lips. My tongue traced the outline of a sharply cut cupid's bow.

I let my hand smooth up the back of the silken neck feeling every jagged, protruding bone there and find itself in a lush forset of curls. I gasped against the lips posessing my own as I realised the identity of my intruder. I opened my eyes to find the icy blues heavily half lidded staring into my newly aware expression. Rather than pulling away from me he used his weight to affectively stradle me and pin my hands into the mattress. His fingers laced in mind he looked solemnly into my eyes before risking another kiss to my mouth. 

"Sherlock what are you doing?" I asked pushing up on my elbows with little effect. He proceeded to lap at my unwilling lips, prying them apart for entrance as I wriggled beneath him. "Sh-Sherlock! Stop it! I'm not..."

He pulled up from me and folded his arms in front of his chest. Was he pouting? "Yes you  _are_ Greg. That's why your wife left. Now if you will please stop wasting my time." With that he ducked his head back down to my pulse point sucking with ferver at the sensitive skin there. I moaned at the ministrations of his fingers dancing against my chest. He found a place between my waist and my hip bone and I shook uneasy with the pleasurable tickling sensation. He smirked pleased with my reaction. I arched into him and pulled his face back up to mine by his hair. Those lips were lush and full of promise. His smooth tongue worked with mine with precision. He rocked his slender hips against mine and I could feel his erection grinding against my own. The friction was positively amazing. I gripped him around his waist revelling in the heavenly corners of his mouth with my tongue. I wanted to map the entirety of it and mark it as my own. I nipped at his lips with my teeth and he growled at the pressure. I bucked hard against him and he threw his head back with a loud moan, exposing the long column of his throat to me. I thrust my head forward to claim my prize and bruise it, mark it for my very own. 

To clarify my dizzy midnight logic here, I must confess that I had thought about this for quite some time. It's plain ridiculous to deny that Sherlock is a very attractive man. Furthermore the sod is intelligent as all hell. Those eyes bore into your very being and expose things about you that you've been hiding in the deepest recesses of your mind for years. It's a shame that he squanders his intelligence on cheap highs wherever he can get them, but somehow that's a part of his charm. Deep down I know that there must have been something profound and perverted about my decision to take him in despite the great risk it posed to my career. I was doing more than simply paying a favor to my friend Mycroft.  There was something so appealing about harboring the addict. It felt nice to be needed again. And then there was that body. I can still remember finding him sprawled lazy in the tub full of water, drowning in a high I could barely break him free of. I remember hoisting his slender frame out, dripping wet, and laying him down on my bed. How he was all sinewy muscle and little bones and god that cock. He mewled so pitifully as he came down and I hadn't ever been harder in my life. I had a more than decent guilt-wank in the loo after I was certain of his safety.

I had wanted Sherlock for months now, which hurdles us to present day where in I lay boneless in my bed as he steadies his hands flat and either side of mine as he leaves kisses along my chest. Those talented and deft fingers of his left hand slide down my torso and tuck themselves under the hem of my boxers as they might wrap themselves round the neck of his violin, and oh how gracefully he pulls them down my thighs. I sighed as my painful erection bobbed freely in the dark. That hand slides up my thigh and cups my balls, massaging them. 

"Oh f-fuck Sherlock," I sigh as my head rocks from one side to the other. I realise it's the first I've spoken since my protests. As he sends spine-tingling kisses across my lower abdomen I find it in me to hiss my explicit consent with a barely audible " _Yesss_." With a satisfied smile he plants both of his palms on my thighs and lowers himself to the base of my cock, stroking it languidly with his long flat tongue. I throw my head back and my neck screams in pain that is soon swallowed by those gorgeous lips wrapping around the tip of my erection. His tongue darted out to quickly lick up the heavy bead of pre-come dripping from my slit in a way that was truly engaging to watch. It was all I could do to keep myself from bucking forward and fucking that velvet mouth into oblivion. He sinks his mouth so terribly slowly halfway down my cock and glances up at me with those sarcastic eyes of his. Those pupils are blown so unnaturally out of proportion. I can feel my heart plumit into my stomach as the arousal gives into terrible guilt.

I sit up and grip his shoulders and push him off of me. "You're high!" I growl at him. He looks uneffected so I shake him for good measure. "Answer me!"

"Oh god what does it matter?" He shouts rolling his eyes. He tries to push himself forward to kiss me again but I push him back again. He balls his fist and bites his bottom lip in frustration. He looks away sadly. "Stupid. It was all stupid," he mumbles.

"Yes! Very stupid Sherlock! I've refrained from telling your brother about all the times you've managed to get high since getting out of rehab but this is getting out of hand! You can't keep doing this!" I scold him while absentmindedly stroking his hair. My heart is pounding in my chest still hopped up on the adrenaline and dopamine rush. 

He grips my softening crotch agressively. "No! No,  _this_ was stupid! You don't love me!" He shouts letting go and throwing his face into his hands. 

"What?" I blink several times before staring mindlessly at his hunched frame.

"You don't love me. No one loves me. I was stuipid to even think-" I take his hand wet with tears in mine and he looks up at me.

"Shh. No don't say that. You are loved Sherlock," I tell him in a whisper. His bottom lip trembles as I pull his head to my chest. "You're loved Sherlock. You are loved by your brother and-"

"Yes but not by you. You hate me. And that's what matters."

Did Sherlock Holmes just inadvertantly tell me that he's in love with me? Dazed, I attempt to mend the wound in his heart. "I do not hate you okay? Look there's just other ways to show that you care for someone...and you know, I'm not going to take advantage of you while you're high." 

"Greg you are not taking advantage of me. I'm perfectly in my right mind. I get it. You just don't want to. I've been a burden. You don't have to pretend to-"

"Shut up! Sherlock, taking care of you has been better for me than 10 odd years of marriage. I don't know, getting home and seeing your progress has made me really happy. I'm proud of you and I like having you around when you're sober. You're great company." I pull him into a chaste kiss on the lips as I contemplate all that's just spilled from my sleepy mouth. There were no lies, but it all sounded odd even to myself. 

"You still love her," he groaned against my lips.

"I don't know," I admit as he presses gentle kisses along my mouth.

"You love me?" he asks pressing his forehead against mine.

"Yes. Yes Sherlock, I love you very much," I sigh feeling as though a weight has been pulled off of me. I really do love him. I'm so sure of it. More sure of anything I know that he has made my life into something exciting and comfortable and less lonely than it's ever been. I love Sherlock Holmes for all he has given me and for every little disappointment alike. I cup his face in my hands pushing the tears off his cheeks and kiss him again more earnestly. He wraps his arms around my neck pulling me closer and things are beginning to feel right again.

"I love you. I love you more than anyone's ever loved anything. I love you more than Mycroft and shut up yes I do. The only good thing he's ever done for me is pawn me off on you," he tells me between kisses. "He used to let father beat me to a pulp. Didn't protect me. Tried to convince me it was out of love but that's not _love_ ," he hisses darkly and it feels like a stab at my heart. "Ughhh. This stuff makes me stupid. Ordinary. Honest," he says with disgust.

"I kind of like it," I chuckle thoughtlessly. "In the morning we're going back to normal though." Surely that isn't fear in Sherlock Holmes' eyes. Not  _the_ Sherlock Holmes. "I just mean that we're going to get you sober again okay?" I reassure him with another soft kiss. I pull him down onto the bed with me and we lay there lazily making out for awhile. His lips slid smoothly on mine and we were pulled impossibly close to one another. I wiggle and toe myself out of my boxers and kick them to the foot of the bed so that I can drape my leg over his. I plant a firm hand at the base of Sherlock's spine while twisting the other into his hair and he arches and groans into the contact. Everytime our mouths open in the kiss our tongues only brush one another breifly before our lips close against each other's again. It doesn't take long until we are rutting desperately against one another again.

"I'm still prepared just so you know," Sherlock smiles into the kiss.

"You planned this?" I giggle reaching up under one of his pants legs and felt his wet entrance. 

"I've wanted you for a long time Lestrade," he whispers against my neck. I shiver with lust.

"H-how long?" I manage to stutter out.

" _From the day that I met you_ ," he emphasises every word before biting into me. Oh god. Sherlock at fifteen admiring me in uni from afar? That's just more than I can handle. I pulled my hand from inside his boxer shorts and tugged them down to his knees, he shrugged them off the rest of the way and pulled me on top of him. I ducked in for another hungry kiss as I let my hands slide down his body. It feels so good to have him rightfully as my own, sighing and shaking underneath me. I cup an arse cheek in my hand and squeeze at it as I gnaw at one of his collar bones and he practically whimpers. I press my middle finger into his entrance and I can hardly bear all of the data that comes rushing to my consciousness. I can feel it, see it, him lying restlessly on his bed wriggling as he works his fingers into himself. I leave the daydream in favor of drinking in the image before me. Sherlock's head is rolling from side to side and he's moaning as I pump my fingers in and out of him. There's a flush on his cheeks and his curls are starting to plaster to his forehead with sweat. His back nearly arches off the bed when he tells me, "God please, Greg I want you. Need you inside me!"

I nearly lose it then but I take in a deep breath and pull my fingers out of him in favor of planting my hands at either side of him. I line my cock up with his entrance and look into his eyes for reassurance. He looks into my own eyes with longing and nods, wrapping his arms around my neck and pulling me in for a kiss as I dive slowly into him. "Oh God Sherlock you're so tight," I groan dipping my head onto his shoulder as I let him adjust around me. 

Sherlock tries to buck against me but I hold his hips to maintain control. "You don't have to worry about hurting me," he growls letting himself lay flat.

"I know baby. I just want to take my time you know? I want this to be special," I say.

"Sentimental fool," he smiles letting his head fall back on the pillow. This earns him a hard thrust but it proves only to make him cry out in pleasure. "Y-yes, again," he whipsers breathlessly.

I start thrusting again but shallowly this time and he groans in frustration. It only serves to make me stifle a laugh low in my abdomen. I want to relish this moment. I want to trap it in a bottle and reopen it when I feel melancholy. I want to revisit it over and over and retrieve the same high each and every time. I want to grab my cell and hit record and save every little sound he makes. I want to just live and breathe this moment for the rest of my life it feels so damned good. I hit the correct spot and he arches up again and cries out as he clutches at the sheets. The speed of my thrusts pick up as I become more wanting and the two of us begin moaning wantonly with abandon. Sherlock rocked himself back onto my cock breathing wildly and raking his nails down my back. I growled as I snaked my hands into his hair pulling him up into a heady kiss. "Oh my God Sherlock you're amazing," I praise him and he moans in appreciation. 

Several thrusts later I pull his orgasm from him bewildered by the sight. He was arching and moaning, spasming forming half phrases. My name pours out like silk strands of gold from his lips. It doesn't take long for me to join him riding out my own orgasm repeating, "I love you Sherlock. God I love you. I love you. I love you," It's a chant that fills me and makes me complete. It hums in the air like an echo as we collapse on the bed. We are a singular pile of sweaty flesh and heavy breathing. We linger like that, tangled in one another occasionally sharing languid and loving kisses and smiles. After awhile he stretches and reaches into my bedside drawer pulling from it a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"I knew it," he smirks.

"You know everything don't you?" I laugh.

"You're finally catching up." And so despite my best efforts to quit, Sherlock and I light a post-coital cigarette and spend the rest of the night there reveling in our newly expressed affections.


End file.
